Baby Doll
by narooks
Summary: "They don't have a name, not yet. Bolin has been campaigning strongly for Bolin Jr. "What if it's a girl?" "Bolin Jr. still works! It's too perfect of a name to deny a little girl!" , but of course Korra is not one to allow such a travesty upon anyone, least of all their unborn child."
1. Chapter 1

They don't have a name, not yet. Bolin has been campaigning strongly for Bolin Jr. (_"What if it's a girl?" "Bolin Jr. still works! It's too perfect of a name to deny a little girl!"_), but of course Korra is not one to allow such a travesty upon anyone, least of all their unborn child.

She gets up before him, as usual, padding along to the kitchen with bare feet, one dark hand circling her belly. She sits at the table, tipping back in her chair, peeling a red orange with her fingers, looking up every so often at him (_Bo, you lazy pants, get up_).

Korra lends even these domestic tasks a kind of quiet holiness that has only increased with her pregnancy. She is a pathway between the home of ruddy humanity and the tenuous spirit world, a creature of both dream and duty; it makes sense that her movements and touch should have such a pure quality to them. There is a definite sense of wonder about her, as simple and significant as a quick brush of air or the flash of a returning sun. Bolin has become good at recognizing this—he watches her in the same reverent way that he'd watch the daybreak on the streets as a boy. The Avatar's job is to care for the world; Bolin's job is to care for the Avatar, and he assumes this role gratefully.

Now that she carries a child, she has become more rooted to mortal concern and worry, and she seems content to spend hours with him, fussing over names and colors for the baby's clothing (Bolin, much to her amusement, has taken up knitting tiny sweaters). Their time together has become more meaningful for the common objective and future they share. For his part, Bolin adores the side of her that has appeared in recent months, the soft and gentle bit of her that coos at their child, that presses his hand to her belly and cries _"right there, did you feel the kick?"_

Bolin rolls out of bed lazily and takes the seat next to Korra, sneaking an orange piece from her hand and popping it into his mouth. She pinches him in a mock reprimand.

"Hey! You glutton, get your own."

Bolin grins. He kisses her cheek, lingering a little; she smells like citrus and nutmeg. "Good morning. And good morning to you, Bolin Jr."

He waits for her answering laugh, her _shut up, we're never, ever calling our baby that_. But she has gone quiet, a behavior rare enough in Korra that it instantly sobers him. Bolin waits for her to talk, deciding that she must have something on her mind, knowing not to rush her.

"Hey Bo, listen. I'm going to visit the airbender colony tomorrow."

Bolin's eyes widen. He struggles to keep his expression under control, with limited success, but he is privately horrified. "Are you sure, Korra? Isn't the baby due soon?"

"It'll be alright. I'll only be there a few days. I have to do this, Bolin. There's been some kind of natural disaster, and Tenzin is worried sick. They've just started out, and they are all on their own. It's Tenzin's whole culture, you know. I can't not help."

"Korra, I don't know. It's not a good idea."

"I can't leave them hanging, not when they need me. You know that."

"But you're pregnant, and it's just too close to—"

"Bo," she says, her tone soft, but inviting no possibility of disagreement, "being the Avatar isn't just a job I can skip when I feel like it. It's important that I do this."

"I know. I know that."

"It's _just_ a few days. I'll be fine! You trust me, don't you?"

She looks at him expectantly; asking for his trust is tantamount to a declaration of love from her. It is not something he can pass off with a distracting drift of his fingertips or a few sweet nothings, as he would do in other circumstances. Bolin places both hands on her shoulders, wishing he could keep her still, that he could always be assured of her safety. But he knows that Korra belongs to the world first, and to him second. He kisses her neck, murmuring _stay safe_ against her skin, hoping to bless her, somehow, to safeguard her from all the dangers he has no hold over.

"Yes. I trust you."

But though young lovers will always believe so, faith is not enough, because Korra doesn't come back. What began as a few days turns into a week, two weeks. Bolin lies awake in their bed, filled with awful frustration that inhabits the depths of his bones and gut. He reconstructs his memories of her—Korra laughing at his jokes, even when they were terrible to the point of absurdity, Korra waking him up during a nightmare and holding him until he fell asleep, Korra on a summer night, in that dress borrowed from Asami, looking so sheepish and unaware of the radius of her charm, affecting every man in the vicinity with a rapid and stunning case of infatuation.

He remembers a similar period during his sixteenth year, when Korra had been taken away in the dead of night, and he had been stuck in a cell, armed with only futile hands and rotting thoughts of her dead eyes and heart. But back then he shared the burden of her care with others more skilled than he, and his youthful optimism left no room for doubt. Now he can only think of her and their baby, alone and stranded. All that keeps him alive is that look in her eyes he knows so well (_I will come home, Bolin_), and the assurance that no determination is stronger than hers. _Please come through for me just one more time, Korra._


	2. Chapter 2

He had crossed his fingers and prayed for it not to happen, but what was he really expecting? Without Korra, it was only a matter of time before the nightmares started up again. There it was, once more—street alley bathed in orange-red light, some faraway sun, Mako with his arms wide open, eyes wild, trying to keep him from seeing, but of course his dreaming mind would not choose that night to be kind, and of course he'd see the two still bodies, their mangled arms and bloodied hair. Someone (but who?) was calling, in the distance: _why can't you protect them? Why can't you do anything? _There's something new this time too: a baby's soft but audible cry.

He's a mess in the morning. It's been almost three weeks. He finds Korra's red oranges (_peeling with her fingers, that serious look, but why didn't I say no, don't go_) and for a moment, in the very edges of his peripheral vision, he can see her body, dark and soft, but when he turns she is gone, a trick of the light.

He's so close to breaking, but all is not lost. In his mailbox, a godsend, a hand in the darkness, a brief, harried note from her: _back soon, so sorry._ There's no mistaking it, he'd know that awful handwriting anywhere. Bolin feels the fearful specters of loss leave him, finally. He thanks every spirit he knows and a few he makes up on the spot (_thank you Noodle Spirit! Thank you!_)

Bolin remembers Korra left on sky bison and takes a ferry to Air Temple Island, scanning the skies all the while for any sight of the wayward beloved. Pema immediately recognizes that painfully lovesick look on Bolin's face and hugs him tight, insisting on letting him stay. _Do you want dumplings? No? Then noodles? Come on, they're good for you. Keep Meelo out of trouble, would you? Try not to help him make trouble, like you usually do. And play Pai Sho with Jinora, no, she won't let you win._ Bolin smiles and lets her distract him, but she can see his heart is not in it. He lingers at windows, watching for Korra, and Pema wistfully wonders at the persistence and simple adoration of young love.

When Korra returns it is past nightfall, but Bolin, who has waited for her nocturnal homecomings on numerous occasions, doesn't mind in the least. She slides down Oogi, and runs to him, and he steps forward to meet her half-way. But as she nears he notices her exhausted expression, and then her (_oh spirits, oh no_) flat stomach. _Why can't you protect them? Why can't you do anything?_

Bolin can feel the familiar fear seize him, but he forces himself to stay upright, to go to Korra. _She must have been so alone,_ he realizes, _so alone._

"Korra," he breathes, grabbing her hand and pressing it between both of his, "it's okay. Don't be upset, I'm here for you, you know? I'm so glad you're okay, that's the important thing. Oh, Korra. I love you. _I love you._ We can try again, sweetheart, we can try—"

"Shh, what are you going on about? I just flew all day to get back, I'm a little tired and I just don't understand a word you're saying."

"Korra, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I don't know what you're apologizing for, Bo! But I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I couldn't come back sooner, come on now, Bo," she whispers, reaching up to touch his face. "If you don't stop crying, you'll wake her."

She turns around and Bolin sees, pressed to her back, a small creature (_spirits_) tucked into a cloth wrap.

"Is that? _Is that_?" His eyes widen; one hand goes to his head.

"Yeah…it all happened so fast, but the air nomads helped me out. I think it's for the best you weren't there, you would've lost your mind. Sorry I took so long to get back, though, labor is surprisingly difficult. Don't look so horrified, Bo, it's still got nothing on some bending duels I've had before. I'm the Avatar _for a reason_."

Bolin looks at her uncomprehendingly, hands flapping awkwardly at the ends of his arms. Korra smiles; this is Bolin's go-to freak-out behavior, a mirror image of his attitude when she'd agreed to his proposal of marriage.

"Do you want to hold her? Go on, it's okay."

He picks the baby up, gingerly, hesitantly, not quite believing what's going on (_I guess I can go along with this dream a while longer_). He holds their child in his arms, feeling her feather-light but significant weight (_maybe this isn't a dream_), tracing the curve of her cheek with one quivering finger. She is a miniature replica of his Korra, all dark skin and hair, all warmth.

"Oh, spirits. Oh, _spirits,_"he babbles, "Korra, she's so beautiful, and I can't believe I wasn't with you, oh spirits, and she's just like you, she's a little Korra, _Korra_, thank you, oh spirits, she is so beautiful, she is just like you."

Korra goes to his side, letting her head rest on his shoulder. "Well, she's not _exactly_ like me."

As Korra speaks, the baby stirs and wakes, and Bolin finds himself staring into green eyes of the exact same shape and shade as his own. It's only a few fleeting seconds, but it is enough for Bolin.

This is a moment untranslatable to human language, a small and infinitely precious blip in time that is all Bolin's own. In this silent and disconnected instant filled with babyish green eyes, his old fears are irrevocably banished, and he is filled with an enormous sense of possibility, the raw taste of life and longing.

"Korra, look at our baby," Bolin sobs, "look at our baby."

"Yes, Bo. Yes."

"Baby, _baaaby_, you're the best, and you're going to grow up and be beautiful and perfect and oh spirits you're our baby, our baby, our _baaaby_. Korra, how did you manage this, are you okay, I love you so much, look at out baby."

Korra reaches up to wipe away the tears at the corners of Bolin's eyes, pressing her lips to his jawline (_citrus and nutmeg_). The baby, still nameless but somehow they've both forgotten that, reaches out blindly and finds Bolin's hand, patting and then gripping it with unsteady fingers. Bolin looks at Korra in shock.

"Did you see that? S_he held my hand_."

Korra tries to suppress a smile and fails miserably. She wraps her arms around Bolin, leaning into him (for the first time in his life, Bolin thinks,_I can protect them_). "This one's going to be a daddy's girl, I can already tell."


End file.
